Cold Water
by Hera93
Summary: HP/GW. Ginny has lost her brother Fred and so she has become a recluse of herself. Unable to find comfort from her alcoholic and mental mother who brakes her down in every chance, she seeks a beam of happiness and a chance to find herself again in Harry..
1. Cold

**A/N: This is no ordinary piece of Harry Potter fan fiction. I have to warn you - the plot will not contain any referrals to magic in any form and the heroes will seem off-character. My attempt here is to throw our beloved HP characters into Muggle life and reality and introduce a different perceptive of the Harry/Ginny romance. In other words, tell their intertwined story as if they were two ordinary teens....or rather extraordinary!**

**The story is rated M for references to sex, drug use and traffic and physical abuse.  
**

**So, if you do not like the idea of such a concept, please do not proceed reading. Otherwise, please send me a review with your response to it. :)**

**

* * *

  
**

**Cold**

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

I had my ear down to my pillow. My arms were hugging it tightly against my chest that I wouldn't be surprised if I tore it into millions of little feathers that would dance their way down to the floor through the air. The door was locked. Again. My eyes were wide open, looking to nowhere, seeing nothing. Only my ears seemed to function at the time; my heart tried to synchronise its beat with the ticking of the small alarm clock on my bedside table.

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

My mind began to play that foolish "game" again...I never knew how to stop it once I started, it happened so by itself. My brain would record every tick and every tock right until I could no longer think and would surrender into hibernation. That's how it always happened after she would beat me.

Beat me as if there was no tomorrow and I should be sent to dine in hell tonight.

During these times of quietness after the storm I would think of him again. Sometimes I thought that these where the only times that I could get to picture him right in my mind...she left me no photographs, you see. He was her only loved, her son...I, better say, we, were not worthy of remembering him. We were the ones to be blamed for all this madness once again.

I recalled the times when she would beat me and George till our faces and bodies would grow red and swollen. I would cry so very hard and she would shut me in our bedroom so that she would not hear me. George would last a little longer; he would wait until he were safely under his blankets and then he would cry his little heart out.

He heard all this from his flat upstairs but couldn't do anything whilst it happened; she was unstoppable during her crises. However, he would always come at night and sneak into our bedroom. He would hug us and kiss our foreheads and say _"I know how you feel...She put me through this too...But do not worry, one day someone will show her her place"_. And so he would comfort us, staying there, our guardian angel, until we were both fast asleep, our dreams creating a world of no more pain, of no more unfairness.

My poor brother George. He would never admit it but he was the one that needed and missed Fred the most. He is so sensitive...always has been. Nevertheless, he built a whole different image for himself. When you're a teenager you can't afford to be sentimental, fragile, atoned. Teenagers are cruel. They do not forgive, do not excuse. Especially when you're a male.

The beating taught us both how to be tough and introverted. I was not an open person myself in the first place; this whole bias on my body only made it easier for me to embrace antisocialisation. Few people dared to speak to me, not because they were afraid of my reaction, but for it had no point. I would either give them an idle stare and move away or mumble some kind of curse like "sod off" and turn my back to them. Not much later on, my new nickname whispered down the hall in my classroom would ricochet in my head ceaselessly: "The Bludger".

I hated people.

I hated people for what they could cause me to feel. For their pathetic, ferocious, tartan nature. For the bitterness that filled my heart and that knot in my throat whenever I was under their power's consequences.

I hated people because they were creations of God. And God is always merciless.

So, here I was again. Numbly recording the ticking noise of the alarm clock in my head, trying to erase the memories, to mock the hysteria that was about to overtake my mind once again and keep my sanity. How did she, the psych, say it? _"She's just a child; she doesn't know how to react and so she uses _that_ way"_. Why should it be me who had to tolerate that though? I was her only victim now; George had grown far too strong by now for her to dare touch him.

_Tick. Tock. Tick._

And then my eyes started to become heavier and I slowly drifted to a dreamless sleep.

Another night would pass.

* * *

**Small hints that will help you follow the plotline:**

_The story is being told by Ginny's point of view._

_George is Ginny's twin in the story._

_Fred serves as their older brother who died in a car crush._


	2. Epiphany

**Epiphany  
**

*******  
**

The next day, I woke up finding myself lain face down on my bed. For a moment my eyes could not focus, but after that, the daylight hit me hard and I forced them close again. When I finally reopened them slowly, I glimpsed at my bedside alarm clock.

Ten-thirty.

That could mean only one of two things: Option A, I was still locked in my room and she didn't even bother to let me out for school. Option B, she just chose to ignore my existence and let me do as I pleased. Personally, I would prefer the second one; option A would mean that if I wanted to go out I'd have to jump from my balcony down to the road. It wasn't half bad, but it would be much more painless if our flat weren't on the second floor.

I idly began to compose myself and then try to get up. The cold floor tiles sent a shiver down my spine as my naked feet touched them as lightly as possible. I reached for the door. It was unlocked. I let a sigh of relief out.

I guided my steps to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. Hot tea soothed and calmed me. Half asleep – half awake, I put it on the stove to boil as I rushed a hand through my greasy hair and felt disgusted by the feel of it against my fingertips. The house was completely silent; Everyone must've left home hours ago. I looked out of the small window above the sink. People were walking up and down the street, always with the same hurry defining their movement. It was just like watching a puppet show. Only that I didn't quite understand who the puppeteer was.

Another hour passed. I took a quick shower and got dressed, whilst trying to decide what I would do for the day. I wouldn't want to stay home; in fact, the longer I stayed out, the better. I grabbed a backpack from under my desk and threw inside my wallet and keys. Then, I scanned around the place for my mobile phone. I spotted it thrown behind the large buffet in the sitting room; as I picked it up, I saw the notification on the screen: _"One new message"_.

From George.

"_Hpe u r beta...in cse u go out ill c u de park."_

I smiled to myself. My remaining brother was the only person that brought that smile to me; he just knew me oh so well. I guess he had predicted that I would miss school today.

I threw the mobile into the backpack along with the other things and left home, intentionally forgetting to lock the door behind me. I had only ten pounds with me; I could hardly buy myself a Tube ticket and a packet of cigarettes. I bought the last from a kiosk nearby; that old man that held it didn't bother about the law forbidding underage persons to smoke as long as he saw the money. I wouldn't doubt that he would sell his own head's hair if he could make a handsome profit out of it. As such, it was pretty easy for George and I to provide ourselves with cigarettes.

My pace brought me to central Wembley's station. I descended lazily and bought myself a one-day ticket for the Bakerloo line, planning to meet George at Queen's Park. I really hoped that he had been more thoughtful than I were and held more money with him. Or that he had bought himself a ticket so that we could later get back together at least.

I had already started to become impatient, waiting for the Tube to arrive. I nervously played with my mobile, swirling it into my hands as I stamped my foot, my eyes glaring to the sultry wall that became one with the Tube once it got to the platform.

And then, all happened too fast for me to comprehend.

The mobile slipped from my hands and found its way to the floor, meeting it with a muffled _plump. _In the next second, I was facing him, staring right into his eyes whilst we were both crouching, myself reaching for the phone, his hand holding it out to me.

I swear I'd never seen eyes more lovely than his before.

Cold water seemed to rush through me as he refused to let my gaze free. I felt as if I had faced the sun bare-eyed and his light, so pleasant and warm for everyone else, threatened to burn and blind me. These emerald green eyes were not something I was used to facing every day; I bet this applied to everyone else he ever faced.

Finally, his lips twitched to form a smug smile.

"_Come"_, was all he said, grasping my hand.

And I went. I knew I'd go wherever he'd drag me. It didn't matter.

I was not afraid anymore.


	3. And I Can't Let Go Of Your Hand

**A/N: I'm sorry for the late posting but it seems that the site has been under some technical problems and I couldn't upload this chapter up until now...Anyway, here you have it and very soon the fourth will follow up :) I would like to thank everyone that cared to have a look on this so far, especially those who reviewed :]**

* * *

**And I Can't Let Go Of Your Hand**

*******  
**

I had no idea for how much time we had been walking. All of my senses were focused on the feel of his hand clasping mine fully and the effect it had on me. He never broke his grip on me; his hand was strong and confident. Every now and then he would turn to have a quick glance on me and sometimes let a crooked smile appear on his full lips. We didn't talk. I was absorbed in the feel of his touch; I hadn't let anyone to touch me anywhere on my body for over four years, ever since Fred died.

I liked it. A lot.

When we finally stopped walking, I realised that I couldn't tell in which area of the city I was. But, as I said, I didn't care. In fact, I felt more secure than any other time in years.

He never released me from his grasp. Now he was leading me up the stairs of a three-story building. I followed patiently, reminding myself of a lamb following its shepherd back to the stable. We stopped ascending when we reached the third floor; there was a sole door waiting, indicating the existence of a flat behind it.

It was only then that he freed my hand and went to unlock it. The absence of his touch caused a strange reaction in me; I found my hand empty without it and, no doubt, sweating. When the door opened, he simply entered, disappearing in the darkness ahead, leaving it as-is and making no suggestion that I should follow his example or stay outside waiting.

I remained motionless for a while, my mind frantically working on what to do next. A rational person would turn around and leave, gratitude and relief filling its heart that in the last minute an opportunity came to prevent any potential harm that could occur from a frivolity of misjudged thinking. I had no clue who this person was; I could no way trust him or, even more, feel relaxed around him. For heaven's sake, I didn't even know his name. Yet, there was something beyond will, beyond rational thought or emotion that attracted me to this stranger. And it was all about that I didn't regard him as a stranger because, somehow, I felt as if I had always known him. I guess this is how I gained the courage and walked to the door.

The first thing I noticed by entering the apartment was the unusual odour that it held. I could define tones of linseed oil and ground, powdered colours; I could tell those smells from an art class I took when I was in eighth grade. The second, was the total blackness that filled it once I closed the door behind me, but for several thin glimpses of light that penetrated the room through old, torn curtains that framed two large windows in front of me. They allowed me to become aware of the complete disorganisation that ruled in the room. Paint brushes were thrown everywhere; an iron can had fallen down from a tall easel and so part of the floor was covered in thick, rich, navy blue paint. Torn canvases were piled up against a wooden sofa with trimmed cushions on it, at the far right end of the room. Last, a mattress was spread under one of the two great windows. The white sheets that were thrown messily upon it were dirty with various mixtures of paint. He was now sitting on them, face down in his palms, seeming to try to soothe himself for some reason. The sunbeams, defying the thin material of the curtains that was unable to forbid them entrance, danced around his figure, making him seem like a vision in the darkness.

I propped myself up against the wall and took a closer look on him from a distance. He was very slender, though his arms protruded toned under his black shirt. His jaw was stiff and square, covered with a slight indication of stubble, as were his cheeks. His nose was straight and well-shaped; his jet-black hair rather short and matched his eyebrows in colour. It was as messy as the room, falling onto his long, delicate fingers as they held his face in them. He seemed to have completely forgotten my presence, when, suddenly, I watched him raise his head and look at me. I lowered my eyes to the floor.

"_Come_", was all he said once more. The huskiness of his voice registered in my mind the way the ticking sound of the alarm clock did each time I played that stupid "game".

An almost magnetic attraction taking over me, I obeyed to his command almost instantly. I took the few steps that parted me from him within seconds and then there I was, standing in front of him. He was staring in my eyes all the while I crossed the room to reach him. Once I got there, he merely patted the mattress with his hand, gesturing that I sit beside him. Swallowing hard, I did as he suggested. The mattress was everything but comfy.

Once I did, he took his stare away from me and turned his head towards the window. He lifted part of the curtain that blocked his view out. As he did, the light filled the room, blinding me for a moment because my eyes had well adjusted into darkness. I looked away; He stared outside for a long while.

As the minutes passed by and he and I were sitting there in total, supreme silence, I sensed an inexplicable, histrionic laugh being born inside me, threatening to be unleashed any moment. It was ridiculous; I was in what seemed a blown-up flat somewhere in London with a stranger that was most appealing to me in an almost deadly way. My company didn't seem to bother to address a single word to me; I had no money left in my pockets. I doubted I would be heard if I screamed. He could be anything; most probably a loser painter, a lunatic that fancied to scare the shit out of young girls by bringing them there, in his atelier magnifique and letting them wonder as he kept silent, staring out of his window at the passers-by.

_And I didn't care._

This was the most ridiculous aspect of it.

"The sun." His voice made me jump awkwardly. It echoed in the room and pierced my ears almost violently. I turned to face him.

He loosened his grip on the curtain and tucked it behind a white pillow in order to let the sunshine to fall on my face unblocked. My eyes adjusted to it pretty quickly; I could see now that he was staring back at me too, his green eyes shinning like sapphires burning in a perpetual fire. I returned his gaze fiercely.

He studied my face observantly, making me feel as if I were being x-rayed. Right afterwards, he did the most unexpected of things I could ever imagine.

He carefully lifted his left hand and cupped my cheek, ever so lightly caressing it with his somewhat coarse fingertips. My eyes grew wide for a second as I was taken by surprise and the reaction of my body to this astonished me. My eyelids fell closed and I leaned to his touch, just like the thirsty gulp down insatiably the water when they finally find it, and stood very still, experiencing with all my being the moment. The next thing I felt was his other hand on my left cheek, doing the same. In a little while, he started tracing lines across my whole face with his fingers, as if they tried to memorise it. I sensed them doodle across my temple lightly, then trailing softly down the length of my nose just to reach and caress once more my cheeks and jawline. I started shivering under his touch, my breath coming out heavier each time I exhaled. Finally, his thumb brushed across my lips, taking away with it a sigh that escaped them as I fluttered my eyes open as slowly as I could. I found myself staring in his.

It was his turn to close them as he once again took my face in his palms and brought his lips to my eyelids, where he planted two chaste kisses. The third came right down to my already parted ones, catching me off guard and making my mind float in empty space.

He did not rush; he took his time kissing my lower lip, making it wet by tracing it every now and then with his tongue or suckling on it lightly. Then, he worked on my upper one, spreading feathery touches of his lips across its length. I trembled so much from the intimacy this act involved that I thought that any time I may as well collapse on the floor, ruining the moment irreparably as I was sitting by the end of the mattress. All this felt like a scene from a borrowed life; it didn't suit my daily routine at all. But, although logic was always there, screaming in my head the truth and what I should do, I had neither time nor intention to think. I willed myself to turn off the irritating voice that warned me in my head and instead decided to focus on the exquisite sensations my body was under, forgetting names, places, situations.

At this point, dear reader, I must provide you with some information. I must admit I never was a handful with young lads. Merely because I was by nature somewhat shy around them. I think though that the final blow was the introversion I'd come to adopt after my brother's death. If any boys had ever tried to approach me, I had not noticed and knew nothing of; it was just a matter of time for them, anyway, to bore themselves trying and point their arrows elsewhere.

Naturally, I had no experience in romance, as is obvious. I was not disappointed or concerned in any way, of course. I hated people. They didn't deserve my affection, my attention, my time.

But now, I couldn't say no. I suppose I could never say no to _him_. Even if his will would mean my end.

When I felt his tongue parting further more my lips, claiming my mouth fully, conquering it, I knew that I could not help but be his. My hands reached out for his torso; one of his came to rest under my chin, holding it between index finger and thumb, slightly forcing my mouth to come in even closer connection to his. I gave in to this up until then unknown delight and lost myself whilst I explored his mouth and he mine, our tongues battling in what seemed like an everlasting battle.

When he broke away it was abrupt. I opened my eyes, my mouth still gasping. He chuckled heartily and pushed it closed softly with a brisk move of his hand.

"_My _sun", he whispered as his finger played along with a tuft of my hair.

He smiled, revealing white, flawless teeth.

He was the perfect temptation. Who was I to resist him?

Having lain me down on the mattress for good, he started undoing his shirt's buttons with sure, decisive fingers, our gazes always locked.


End file.
